Black Saturday
by PythonFan
Summary: The day there was no Collins, the day there was no Cap’n Crunch, Mark knew. PostRENT.


He never would have thought Collins would be the next to go. 

He was convinced it would be Mimi; as thin and frail as she was, a strong breeze would seemingly carry her away. The events of that Christmas had been a miracle, but only a reprieve. Her time was coming soon.

If not Mimi, then surely it would be Roger. The years of hard drug use must have taken a toll on his body, the trauma he'd endured beginning with April and continuing with Mimi…it had to be a burden.

But Collins? Never. He was strong, barrel-chested, loud and merry. On occasion, he'd get rip-roaring drunk, he enjoyed the occasional joint…but nothing out of the ordinary. He was a philosopher, a professor…the 'grownup' of the bunch. Angel's death had taken its toll, Mark knew, but his friend seemed to be making peace with it.

That's why it came as such a shock.

As one of the more financially prosperous members of their group, Collins had taken it upon himself to purchase luxury goods for his friends from time to time, dropping them off whenever he had a chance. Having found gainful employment at CUNY for the spring semester, Mark and Roger eagerly awaited the periodic deliveries of Cap'n Crunch—just one in the long line of name-brand products that they couldn't hope to afford on their own.

And the Cap'n Crunch came. Martin Luther King Day came in late January. President's Day was next. March brought spring break, and not one, but two, boxes of the saccharine treat. The waits could be difficult, but the anticipation of the next box's arrival kept their spirits up.

Easter would bring Collins's next long weekend. The holiday would come late this year—over a month's wait between deliveries. Mark was keenly aware of the fact that he probably the only Jew actively counting the days until that weekend in late April.

That Friday, Mark had gone out with Roger, Mimi, Joanne, and Maureen to celebrate the advent of another weekend. They'd all gotten more than a little buzzed, and upon returning to the loft, Mark practically collapsed into bed. His last coherent thought had been one of sheer happiness. Anticipation at seeing his friend, due to show up tomorrow morning, and a craving for the long-awaited red box of processed sugar.

Upon awakening the next day, Mark squinted at the digital clock perched precariously on milk crates at his bedside. 12:20. Ouch. He fumbled for his glasses, realizing that Collins had probably been here for several hours already. Lenses in place, he stumbled around his room in the midst of a nasty hangover, trying to remember how to get dressed. While ignoring his pounding headache, Mark wondered vaguely why Collins hadn't barged in and jumped into bed with him, singing 'Good Morning' from Singing in the Rain. The thought passed quickly, however, and fairly confident that he looked halfway presentable, he wandered into the kitchen craving a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, fully expecting to see his friend lounging on the couch, a brown paper grocery bag or two resting on the kitchen counter.

But neither Collins nor the food was there. The apartment was silent. The only sign of life was the blinking red light on the answering machine. They must have slept through a call. Still somewhat disoriented, Mark approached the phone, his fingertips dipping under his glasses to rub his temples.

The recorder beeped to life. What Mark heard may his blood run cold.

It was Collins. His voice was thin and hoarse, without any of its normal exuberance; his joyful laugh had been replaced by a hacking cough. An apology. He was under the weather, he was going to try and get some rest this weekend, he'd try and stop by sometime before summer vacation began. More apologies. And with an onslaught of coughing, he signed off.

The message itself hadn't been more than thirty seconds long, but Mark wasn't sure how long he stood there, blood rushing in his ears and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Some time later, he snapped back to reality. Glancing up, he saw Roger and Mimi eying him from the doorway of Roger's room, mystified.

Willing the nausea away, Mark acknowledged them with a weak smile. "No Cap'n Crunch today." he said simply. With that, he turned on his heel and strode back to his room, trying not to betray the sudden weakness in his legs.

The day there was no Collins, the day there was no Cap'n Crunch, Mark knew.

It was the beginning of the end.


End file.
